Solace
by silbecoo
Summary: He thinks she's his home, a talisman against nightmares, a soft embrace when the world is sharp and unyielding. But she's so much more than he ever anticipated.


**A/n: I'm rewatching CM from the beginning and roundabout season three my morcia feels have gotten the best of me. This is the result (I expect a few more chapters)**

At the end of a long hard day of seeing the worst humanity has to offer Penelope Garcia likes things to be soft and sweet. Old romantic comedies are a go to on nights when she can't get graphic images out of her mind. She puts them on, turning the volume down to a pleasant murmur in the background. She likes the sound of people falling in love while she's cooking dinner, early nineties soundtracks filling her cluttered apartment as she chops up veggies.

Her favorite is _You've Got Mail_. There's just something about the texture of the film, Meg Ryan's soft blonde bob and her decidedly taupey monochromatic wardrobe are soothing in a way. It's the complete opposite of Penelope's own bright and flashy sense of style, but it fits the character so perfectly she doesn't mind. It's comforting when someone leans into their own personality.

She contemplates the seemingly endless monochromatic collection of turtlenecks and slacks that the character owns, getting lost in the feel of the movie. She's grateful for that. The BAU's last case, while not the most horrific one she'd ever been subjected to, was so just unrelentingly sad. It had made her feel heavy waking out of the office tonight, melancholia clinging to her like a wet blanket.

She's half way through a pint of her favorite Ben & Jerry's, watching Meg Ryan happy-cry into Tom Hank's arms when her door buzzer sounds. It's only then that she realizes she's crying right along with the movie, moving to dash away the moisture running down her face.

A quick glance at the time tells her it's past midnight, and she can't help the little thrill of fear that trickles down her spine. It hasn't been that long since her apartment building was a scene of mayhem, a man hell-bent on killing her stalking the halls. She can still feel the cold metal of the gun Derek had pressed into her hands for protection. Shuddering, she moves to see who's buzzing.

Her finger presses down on the button, only a slight tremor revealing her anxiety. "H-hello. Who is it?"

"It's your knight, coming to release you from your tower."

She smiles, the fear draining out of her completely. "I like my tower just fine, thank you very much. It has high speed wifi and a well stocked freezer."

She buzzes him up before waiting for a reply, suddenly feeling a bit nervous. It strikes her as odd, but she shakes it off, attributing it to the fact that Derek has never really been to her home when circumstances weren't dire.

He's knocking on her door in minutes and she doesn't have to fake the bright smile that splits across her face when she swings it open.

He's come straight from the airport, and he looks tired, his travel bag hanging on his shoulder, eyes not their usual brightness. It worries her for a second, but she's no profiler, doesn't want to be, so she chalks it up to the exhausting nature of a transcontinental flight and invites him the rest of the way in

"Not that I'm averse to inviting a deliciously handsome and roguish looking gentleman into my boudoir in the middle of the night, but what are you doing here?"

It's not normal, and they both know it, but Derek has a look on his face that Penelope's not used to. It's sad and tired. She has the strongest urge to step forward and wrap her arms around him.

After a long pause, he answers. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

It's something of a lie, and they both know it, but his expression begs her to accept it and so she does. He moves further into her apartment, dropping his bag on the hardwood with a thunk. "This is the first week the teams been gone since…" He trails off, the mere mention of her attack seems like just one more thing that makes him sad and tired. "... and I know you were probably a little edgy the whole time."

Somehow they've migrated into her little kitchen area, Derek leaning against her island in an almost obscene display of his natural tendency to strike a modelesque pose. Her eyes involuntarily give him a once over. He's another one of those people who really leans into the image they present to the word. His dark fitted tee accentuating the line of his pecs, the sleeves cutting across his arm in the perfect place to make his biceps seem enormous. Internally she fans herself like a southern belle suddenly accosted with a bout of the vapors. Externally she's as cool as a cucumber, a slight bite of her bottom lip the only sign of her inner struggle.

Of course he notices the small movement, one of his perfectly sculpted eyebrows arching upward in amusement. He leans forward, reaching up to catch her bottom lip with his thumb. "You alright there, Pen?"

She smiles at him, adopting her most sultry gaze. It's her only defense against Derek's charms, to play along with this game of his. It had been like this from day one. She knows his flirtation is not serious, so she responds flippantly. "Oh, I'm more than alright, Agent Morgan. Just enjoying the view."

It has the desired result. His eyes crinkle at the corners and he lets out an amused laugh, moving in to land a smacking kiss on her cheek. The strange tension is broken, and he moves toward her fridge to rummage through it for leftovers. "I'm starving, baby girl. The jet of ours is seriously lacking in snack department."

She moves him out of the way, digging around and making him a plate of what she'd had for dinner hours ago. In minutes they're sitting side by side on her couch, watching the opening scenes of her second favorite romcom. Harry and Sally are arguing when Derek sets his empty plate on the coffee table, a satisfied sigh escaping him.

She catches him staring, a strange feeling fluttering in the pit of her stomach. For the millionth time since she met him she thinks about how unfair it is, the way he can unthinkingly melt her into a gooey puddle and just go about his life like it's no big deal.

But he has an unusual expression on his face this time, like he needs to say something but just can't find the words. He opens his mouth, but closes it, awkwardly waiting a second before he tries again. "I missed you."

It's her turn to feel awkward. Things have been different between them since her attack. The deep cut of hurt she'd experienced when he'd seemed skeptical about her romantic life was still in the back of her mind, and she'd definitely been calling the other agents more frequently with information when they were out in the field. She couldn't help it, there was still a thin film of embarrassment. He'd been right, and god her cheeks still flamed when she'd thought about how angry she'd been at him. It was, she knew, a very revelatory response, one that she knew Derek (one of the bureau's he'd profilers) had picked up on.

"Derek, look, I'm sorry. You were right about Battle. I just-"

"No, stop. You have nothing to apologize for. I, uh, wasn't exactly using my abilities as profiler when it came to him."

"Huh?"

"I was being selfish, I think." He frowns, trying to articulate what he means. "I felt defensive when you told me you'd met someone, like it meant whatever our thing was might have to change."

"Our thing?" The hope that springs in her chest momentarily takes her breath away.

"You're my best friend, Pen… kind of all I have."

"Oh." It's a quiet response, accompanied by a mixture of disappointment and affection. She hates the lonely note in his voice.

"...and when you said you blew him off… I was so relieved I said the first stupid thing that came into my head. It had nothing to do with you."

She doesn't have a response. Unspoken is the idea that he was possibly jealous. It sends a thrill through her, but she does her best to tamp it down. "Well, I am sorry too. I have a few sensitive spots, and you just… sort of accidentally found one." She sighs. "And it's not like you were wrong."

She's staring at the screen now, avoiding looking directly at him. That's how she feels his touch against her face before she sees him move. His fingers slide under her chin, making her look at him. "Look at me, angel."

She does. His eyes, when they aren't sparkling with amusement are always so sincere. It's no different now, and she feels the remnants of whatever made her cry earlier stir in her chest.

"He was a scumbag, yes." Derek continues without relinquishing her gaze. "But I'm so lucky that you're the one who's on the other end of the lin when my phone rings, that you're the one I get to come home to after spending a week in a strange place with horrible people. I don't ever want that to change."

She smiles, leaning into his embrace. "It's not going to."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

And that's how they sleep together the first time. Innocently. Penelope's head tucked under his chin, her ear pressed against his heart. Whatever nightmares lie in wait for the both of them are shoved to the periphery, the sound of people falling in love coming from the television as the two drift into unconsciousness.


End file.
